Watermelon Boy
Thu., March 27, 09:37 AM
He wasn’t really the “watermelon boy.” My little brother misunderstood when someone was looking for the Guatemalan boy. I had not thought about him in years and years, but there was an obituary this morning.
More than fifty years ago, when we lived in the house on Court Street, this fellow rented a room from our next door neighbor. He must have been in his thirties, but he was short and slight; that, together with his accent, caused “real Americans” to call him a boy. He was a kind and helpful person, and he was the one who introduced us to the lady I described in my post about illegal immigrants.
He was always a hard worker and, from what I remember, he was part of an informal network of Spanish-speaking people who routinely helped each other. At ninety-three, he had been a good, productive citizen for nearly sixty years — the obit didn’t mention just when he came here — as well as a family man (lots of kids) and a regular churchgoer.
I know there are people who disagree with me, but I still feel that we gain more than we lose when immigrants come to this country.
